


Camcorders

by maraudermuckups



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, it's literally all fluff, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudermuckups/pseuds/maraudermuckups
Summary: San wakes up to a hand over his mouth, and Wooyoung’s face far too close to his own.“C’mon,” Wooyoung hisses, casting a furtive look at a fast-asleep Mingi. “Come with me.”-o-Off days are rare. Wooyoung and San make the most of it with a visit to the beach.





	Camcorders

**Author's Note:**

> Hey :) This is my first ateez fic so ?? Please enjoy?! Let me know what you think xx 
> 
> (And, yes, this was highkey inspired by San hanging with that camcorder throughout 90% of wave.)

San wakes up to a hand over his mouth and Wooyoung’s face far too close to his own. All things considered, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s woken up to, but it’s certainly not what he was expecting. His eyes struggle to make out Wooyoung's shaded form as he resists the urge to turn over and ignore him. For their first, full day off in weeks, he had been hoping to make the most of it by firstly sleeping until a decent hour.

Wooyoung shakes his shoulders more vigorously and San peers through heavy eyelids to glare at him. The lines of his body are blurred with sleep and a lack of contact lenses. 

“C’mon,” Wooyoung hisses, casting a furtive look at Mingi who is still fast asleep. “Come with me.” 

And, well, San trusts Wooyoung. He couldn’t refuse him if he had wanted to, so he obliges and stumbles out of bed like the uncoordinated mess he always is in the morning. With one hand, he rakes his fingers through his hair, working out the knots that have formed overnight. With the other, he stifles a yawn and follows Wooyoung out of the room, still in his pyjamas. 

In the main space of their dorm, Wooyoung is waiting for him with a grin in the dim light of the table lamp. “Let’s go to the beach,” he says, “Just us two.” His face is so bright, even though the clock over his shoulder shows it is only a little past four, that San could not have declined even if he had wanted to. 

“Okay,” San says, without really registering it. He rubs at his eyes, trying to work the last of the sleep out. “Now?” 

Wooyoung nods. “Yeah! We need to go early if we want to have enough time.” 

“Okay,” San says again. He yawns and stretches his arms above his head. “Let me get changed first.” 

“Quickly,” Wooyoung insists and his eyes flash as his grin widens. “And, don’t worry about makeup.” 

San walks back to his bedroom and gropes his way through the clothing in his cupboard. It’s too dark to see what he’s taking, but he does his best to judge by the texture of the fabric and any embroidery or graphics he can feel printed on them. 

He changes in the bathroom: at least there he can turn the light on to make sure his clothes aren’t backwards and his hair isn’t a birds-nest. It takes five minutes to pull on the jeans and t-shirt, put his contacts in and drag a brush through his hair until it’s presentable. His face is pallid, but he heeds Wooyoung's words and foregoes rummaging through the makeup basket to find something that would give his cheeks some life. 

He returns to his bedroom with his pyjamas under his arm. Being careful to not make any noise that could wake Mingi, he shoves them under his pillow and pulls the covers up. He grabs a jacket that he threw over the back of a chair yesterday, his phone from the bedside table and turns to walk back to Wooyoung. 

Then, he freezes. On a whim, he crouches down, reaching into the bottom drawer of his bedside table and rummages through it as quietly as he can. It takes only a few seconds to emerge, victorious, with a camcorder clutched in his hand. He glances at it for a second and pushes into the pocket of his jacket as he walks out.  The door shuts gently behind him and Mingi snuffles in his sleep. 

Wooyoung is standing near the front door, tapping his toe on the ground without making a noise, his hands clasped in front of himself. There is a rucksack on his back that looks almost empty, but he beams at San when he notices him. 

“Ready?” 

San returns the smile. His eyes are no longer protesting the light, and having splashed water on his face, he can feel the flicker of excitement in his stomach. “Let’s go.” 

They let themselves out of the dorm soundlessly and lock the door as they go. There’s no note on the table and San doesn’t ask Wooyoung if the others know. It’s not too much to assume that they don’t. He hadn't either until ten minutes ago. 

Once they’ve trooped down four flights of stairs and navigated the hallways out of the building, the street is dead. Seoul is always busy, always filled with people and cars, lights and noise. And yet, today, it’s quiet on their side-street exit door, too sheltered to hear the bustle of cars that hurry along on roads that never sleep. 

Wooyoung takes San’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Anything for you,” San says, his stomach warm and smile lazy. It's the truth; there is nothing he would not sacrifice for Wooyoung. It’s not love-it can’t be love-but it might be something close. He grips Wooyoung’s hand a little firmer as they make their way through the dark streets until they near a bus terminal.

Under the cover of darkness, it’s easy to hold hands and be _Wooyoung_ _and_ _San_. Once there is light and they know they can be seen, that confidence melts away like the ice creams they share on summer days in Haneul Park . In a city like Seoul, it always scares San to think of who might be watching. He hesitates before letting go of Wooyoung’s hand as they approach the shelter, illuminated by dull lights that moths swarm to, and the bite of regret mauls him. 

Wooyoung offers a mask to San and pulls on one of his own. He must have planned this, San decides. The bus turns up within minutes, and Wooyoung grabs San’s hand and pulls him on board. As they tap on, the driver blinks wearily at them with no sign of recognition. A wave of relief washes over San; he wants a day where he can just be a normal teenager again and forget the publicity that comes with being an idol.

He loves his job on most days. Pride cannot encompass how humbled he has been by what they've achieved in less than a year. The process of training and debuting has been the craziest journey in his life. Where he was once a boy from regional Namhae who could not even dream of going overseas, he has now toured all over Europe and America. He has fans in countries that he’s scarcely heard the names of. It’s amazing, but sometimes it’s also scary. Sometimes, he wishes he could just be that countryside boy again, away from the celebrities’ world of perfectionist pressure. 

And, maybe that’s what today is about. They get off the bus, walk a few meters, board the next bus, and then change buses again at the Seoul Express Bus Terminal. Wooyoung produces two tickets from his bag, shows them to the conductor before dragging San to a double seat near the back of the bus. They wind their hands into each other’s the entire way.

Somewhere along the bus trip, Wooyoung lies his head on San’s shoulder. Their soft talking has long since died away into a content silence, watching the city drift into green pastures and a rosy sunrise over the mountains that they roll towards. 

“Wooyoung, where are we going?” San asks after the bus has been driving for almost an hour and a half. 

Wooyoung lifts his head from San’s shoulder and gives him a small smile. “Sokcho,” he says, “My family and I used to go there on holidays in the summer sometimes. I wanted to show you.” 

San nods and reaches into the pocket of his jeans for his phone. His hand instead collides with the camcorder, and he pulls it out, staring at it as if he’s never seen it before. It had passed his mind that he had picked it up.

Wooyoung laughs when he sees it. “Film us!” he says, excitement bleeding into his voice, “Then we'll never be able to forget today!” 

Ever obliging, San opens the flip screen and turns it on himself and Wooyoung. In the screen, they are bathed in the golden light of a young sun, and speckled by dazzling sunspots that dance across their faces. The video clicks on and San grins into the camera as Wooyoung throws an arm around his shoulders and a peace sign up next to his face. 

They both dissolve into giggles and San turns to look at Wooyoung, his stomach fluttering with the wings of a thousand butterflies. His cheeks are cold but his chest feels warm and there's a sense of peace around them. He pushes the side of his head against Wooyoung’s as they both continue to grin and Wooyoung summarises where they’re going. 

When San turns the camera off, they both laugh again. San is thankful that the rest of the bus is sparsely occupied. Apparently, going to Sokcho isn’t popular in the middle of October on a Tuesday.

The drive passes in a daze of laughter, filming short excerpts of the countryside they pass, and humming the melodies to the songs that come up in their music playlist. San’s chest threatens to explode. 

And, when they step off the bus, San suddenly knows why Wooyoung wanted to come here. The air is fresh and salty with the sea. Cold, but not enough that he shivers. Pretty, but not crowded by people. Admittedly, it is only half-past-eight in the morning. 

San pulls his camcorder out again and turns it on. With a wide sweep, he films Wooyoung and the bus terminal, before turning it to frame both of them. The video follows them out of the terminal, through a coffee shop and towards the beach. Neither of them wears their masks, but they lace their fingers together anyway.

The beach is every bit as beautiful as Wooyoung promised on their bus ride. A long expanse of amber sand meets stone blue water that crest and flow gently. It is almost deserted, save for a few walkers who meander on the wet sand with waves lapping at the soles of their shoes. 

“It’s gorgeous,” San says softly, turning the camcorder on Wooyoung. He captures a dazzling smile before he puts the video to rest and the device into his pocket again. “Really, it’s so pretty,” he repeats.

“I know,” Wooyoung agrees, gazing into the horizon. “I used to love coming here.” 

San nods and does not press for details. Instead, he raises his coffee cup to his lips and takes a long sip. A beat of silence elapses before San grabs Wooyoung’s hand and pulls him further down the beach to a more secluded area. 

He drops to the sand, careful not to spill his coffee, and pats the dry patch next to him. Wooyoung sits too, both hands cupped around his own cup. For a long time, they watch the ebb and flow of the sea, draining their coffees and splitting a sugary pastry between them. 

At some point, they pull their shoes and socks off and dig their feet into the dry sand. With the grains between his toes, San feels more alive than he has in months. He lets out a contented sigh; there is nowhere he would rather be. Here alone, he can live in a crafted fantasy where the word _love_ is not shrouded in lies and controversy, but the representation of what makes him smile when he’s exhausted and at his wit’s end. What makes his name sound special, even when he’s heard it a thousand times before. What gives and receives unconditionally. He looks at Wooyoung. 

The silence is broken by San’s phone ringing. He flinches and nearly drops the last bite of the Danish when he hears the blaring ringtone. Pulling it out of his pocket, he exchanges a furtive look with Wooyoung. 

“Did you let anyone know where we are?” he asks, looking screen, Seonghwa's contact photo plastered across it in full relief.  

Wooyoung looks at him with a guilty expression. “I forgot?” he tries, but there is no guilt in his voice, and he cannot hide his grin. 

San rolls his eyes as he accepts the call and puts it on speaker. Not a second passes before Seonghwa, without waiting for San to say anything, launches into a rambling mess of words. San and Wooyoung exchange a look, trying not to laugh.

“Where are you? Are you with Wooyoung?” Seonghwa concludes, having exhausted the worries he can vocalise off the bat. “We haven’t seen either of you all morning, and you didn’t say where you were going!”

Wooyoung squishes himself closer to San until there is no space left between them. San ignores his heart rate doubling and focuses on Wooyoung’s grin as he tries to justify their actions. 

“We’re in Sokcho,” he says, his voice louder than it needs to be. 

There is silence from the other side of the phone. “Where?” Seonghwa asks, sounding more confused than irritated. 

San speaks this time. “It’s in Gangwon,” he supplies, “And, yes, Wooyoung is with me.” 

Seonghwa sighs, and Wooyoung takes over again. “It’s our day off, so we’re out. We’ll be back late, probably, so don’t stay up for us!” He grins at San as he says it.

“Right,” Seonghwa says. He sounds resigned, now, and maybe even defeated. “Please remember we have a schedule at ares-o’clock tomorrow. Don’t be back so late that you’ll be miserable throughout it.” There is another pause and San and Wooyoung wait in anticipation for what he will say. “And, next time, _please_ leave a note. Hongjoong nearly went spare when he realised you were missing.” 

San nods, even though Seonghwa cannot see it. “Will do!” he replies and pauses for Seonghwa to give a reluctant goodbye before he puts his phone away. They both dissolve into laughter, and when San leans closer into Wooyoung, he can smell the familiar scents of his shampoo and moisturiser. 

Wooyoung stands up, dropping his coffee cup to the sand where he was sitting and throwing his jacket down next to it. He extends a hand to San and helps him stand. Once on his feet, San drops his things, too, only retrieving his camcorder from the pocket of his jacket. 

Still holding his hand, Wooyoung pulls him down to the surf until the waves lap at their ankles, threatening the hems of their jeans that they’ve pulled up as high as they can. San turns the video recorder on and struggles to splash Wooyoung with the chilly water with only one hand and, he’d admit it, not the best sense of coordination. 

(San maintains: dancing is one thing, but the coordination required for walking and catching a ball is quite another). 

High shrieks of laughter pick up on the audio recorder. It can’t capture the glee infects the air that surrounds them, but it saves their grins and their clothes that are becoming increasingly damp onto a tiny SD card that they can look at one day in the future. 

Wooyoung leaps forwards, a handful of water quickly draining between his reddened fingers, and dumps what he can on San’s back. San lets out a squawk and kicks water back in Wooyoung’s direction, which sprays up his right leg and across his torso. Wooyoung peels off into cackles and extends his cold hands towards San until he is cupping his face with them. 

San shrieks and runs back onto dry land, camcorder clutched in one hand, and glancing over his shoulder at Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung chases after him and launches himself at San, wrapping his arms around his waist and sending them both tumbling into the sand. They play rough’n’tumble until they’re both gasping for air between giggles and lying on their backs, heads close. San gazes at Wooyoung’s face, memorised by his eyes which sparkle with mirth and the sand that sticks to his skin where the saltwater hit him. Love is a strong word to use, but at times like these, San doesn’t think it’s a lie. It’s the only word he can use to encompass everything he wants Wooyoung to know, but he keeps his mouth closed. 

The camcorder turns off. 

Lunch is a quiet affair. They share a bottle of water and a serving of _eomuk,_ sitting on a bench in a nearly-deserted local park.  Sand is everywhere. San can both taste and feel it in their fishcakes, but he doesn’t mind. He laughs with Wooyoung every time there’s a noticeable crunch and eats his food, content. 

When they’re done, they wander around the park, hands linked as they have been almost all day. They talk quietly, reminiscing and then diverting to something that makes them both giggle like they're five again. 

They round a corner, and they’re back at the beach. Wooyoung leads San parallel to it, over a tiny bridge that leads to a tinier island and down onto the quay. They sit on a bench at the end of it, so close that San can feel the rise and fall of Wooyoung’s breaths. The camcorder sits between his legs, staring out at the water and overhearing their conversations. 

“Why did you invite me?” San asks after a few minutes of silence. 

Wooyoung looks at him, something mysterious lurking in his eyes. “I think you know,” he replies, not looking away. 

San nods. “I think I do, too.” His chest feels constricted and holds Wooyoung’s hand a little tighter. 

Wooyoung’s eyes crinkle into a smile. They don’t need more words; they’re better left unsaid right now. Not even the camcorder needs to hear them. The videos in its memory speak louder than anything they could say.

In the late afternoon, they meander back through town and by sundown, they’re back on the beach. San sits with his head resting on Wooyoung’s shoulder. Wooyoung has an arm wrapped around San’s waist, and they both stare into the horizon that turns a beautiful, bloody orange, staining the grey background and scattering pink shadows. The camcorder can’t do it justice. 

When night falls, they’re still sitting on the beach. There is half an hour until their bus leaves, and neither of them wants to move. It’s warmer when they’re in each other’s embrace. San doesn’t want to lose that. 

Wooyoung sighs. “I don’t want to go back,” he says. 

“Neither.” San picks up Wooyoung’s hand and fiddles with his fingers. “But, I think we have to.” 

Wooyoung nods and removed his hand from San’s back to pull his phone out of his pocket and check it. “We should go. Bus leaves in fifteen, and it’s a ten-minute walk.” He zips his rucksack closed, checking quickly through everything as he does so. 

San watches him do it, silent, and stands up when Wooyoung does. They stand there for a minute, too close and yet not close enough, and watch the sky twinkling above them. Night has properly fallen now, and unlike in Seoul, they can see a scattering of stars. 

“Thank you for today,” San says and wraps his arms around Wooyoung. He presses a tender kiss to his cheek. In their lives, kissing people on the cheek isn’t uncommon, but this is different. And he knows that Wooyoung understands that, too. 

Wooyoung stills for a moment and then relaxes. He leans closer into San. “Thank you for coming.” 

There isn’t as much to film on the camcorder on the way home. They’re both tired, and it's hard to see anything outside the window except for the shroud of night that is occasionally disrupted by the lights of a small town. 

By the time they arrive back to the dorm, it’s gone eleven. Although it’s not that late, everyone else in the dorm has taken advantage of the free day. The lights are all off, and when San walks past his room, he can hear Mingi’s even breaths. 

Sand and salt still stick to their skin and hair, but San doesn’t want to wake the others to take a shower. He casts a look at Wooyoung who nods in agreement. 

“Couch?” San suggests. 

Wooyoung nods again, kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag and jacket by the arm of the settee. He pats the seat next to him. 

Retrieving a blanket from an armchair, San brings it over before hanging his jacket over the back of the couch. He spreads the blanket over both of them, pulling it in tight, and cuddles close to Wooyoung. 

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.  

Wooyoung says nothing but kisses his temple gently. San smiles and snuggles in a little closer. They don’t need to explain it; they know exactly what they mean. And, the camcorder lies beside them, forgotten, but containing proof of all the words that go unsaid. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and yell about me about stuff on twitter! I love receiving messages haha
> 
> Twitter: [oonymay](https://twitter.com/oonymay)


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